


After the Rain

by FlourishBelle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Conversations, How They Met, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlourishBelle/pseuds/FlourishBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock and John are out of town, 221B finds its temporary occupants falling for each other. (Or, perhaps 221B is secretly an aphrodisiac.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my ideas on how they could have met. This one feels pretty realistic to me (or at least the part where Lestrade finds Mycroft sitting in 221B while the boys are out).

Lestrade bounded up the stairs to 221B, ready for just about anything.

The doors to the flat stood open like they usually do and saw...nothing. Absolutely nothing. Breathless and incredulous, he looked around. Neither Sherlock nor John had been answering their phones for almost three hours now. Sherlock was practically attached to his phone at all times, and even if he was in a mood, John was pretty reliable. He imagined everything from a hostage crisis to Sherlock finally blowing up the flat with whatever experiment he was currently working on. But now, as he stood in the living room of the flat, Lestrade heard, smelled, saw...nothing. It was pretty unnerving. For as thin a bloke as Sherlock is, he fills a space with his ranting and pacing. 221B seemed sleepy without the detective and his doctor.

“They’re not here.” Lestrade jumped about a foot in the air. The voice was velvety and refined, educated and maybe a bit poncy. It belonged to a man in a well-tailored black pinstripe suit who was parked in Sherlock’s chair. He looked relaxed, with one foot perched on his other knee.

“I...you...where’ve they gone?” Lestrade fumbles.

“Well, detective inspector, it is a Friday, neither Sherlock nor John are here or answering their phones, and they left here of their own free will with luggage. And no, they were not kidnapped. Your conclusion?” The posh, haughty bastard.

“They didn’t...go on vacation, did they?” The man in the chair laughs and motions to John’s open recliner and, although hesitantly, Lestrade takes a seat.

“Yes, very good. But please, don’t feel left out detective inspector, they didn’t inform me either.” “Hmm. Sherlock and John, then. Should have guessed,” He muses, mainly to himself. “So, who are you then?”

“Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s older brother.” Oh.

“Gregory Lestrade, New Scotland Yard. Although, you already know that.” Something in the conversation shifts. The tone slides quietly into something else. Mutual curiosity can do that.

“I do, indeed,” he steeples his hands under his chin, eerily reminiscent of his missing younger brother, “I am gifted and burdened with the ability to know these things.”

“And how is that, then?”

“I occupy a minor position in the government.”

“Oh sure. I’ve heard this bit before. According to Sherlock you are the government.”

“Well, my little brother does relish his...drama.” He said this with a certain amount of disgust and a wrinkled nose that Lestrade couldn’t help but laugh at.

“That’s the truth. Likes to swoop on to crime scenes with that coat of his.”

“Oh yes, the coat. It helps with the self-delusion he keeps that he is a superhero of some sort.” At this both men dissolved into laughter. It was an easy laughter, the cleansing sort and there was certainly something nice about seeing Mycroft’s suit a bit rumpled. Eventually, they managed to settle and Mycroft made to stand.

“Would you like a cup of tea detecti-”

“Greg. You can call me Greg.” The offer is given with a warm smile and received the same way.

“Thank you, Gregory.”

“Close enough. And I’d love one, thanks.” Over tea, they talked for hours. Settled in Sherlock and John’s chairs it felt as though the rest of the world wasn’t going on committing crimes, and creating new needs for international politicians. There was nothing but the conversation going between them. It encompassed absolutely everything from law to politics, to baking, religion, tea, Sherlock, other more normal siblings, assistants, cases, ambassadors, London, America, and everything in between. It was effortless and easy, things that these two men in particular never had the pleasure of experiencing too often anymore.

Finally, a phone beeped.

Both men started slightly, and looked at it on the table.

“Funny how quiet things can be when Sherlock’s not around.” Lestrade smiled, “I can’t remember the last time my phone didn't ring for that long.”

“Yes, I must say the same. It has been very, very nice Gregory.” There was a shyness to Mycroft’s smile that warmed him straight through.

“It really has been, Mycroft.” He wondered if he could relay how he was feeling in that moment in only five words. He grabbed the phone from the table and checked his messages. “Sally.” He mumbles.

“Duty calls?” Mycroft asked, standing.

“Looks like it.” They were both standing by the door when something in the air shifted again. It was expectant and hesitant, it felt like ozone after the rain. Something new just happened, something extraordinary and now it wanted to be acknowledged. The tension seemed almost too much. They both started to speak at once, flushing and apologizing immediately after.

“You should get back to work then, detective inspector. I’ve held you captive long enough.” The space between them begins to shrink, inches at a time.

“Yeah, I guess I should.” They were merely two inches away when the sound of a door downstairs broke the spell. It was Mrs. Hudson bringing groceries in. Lestrade clears his throat.

“Goodbye Mycroft.”

“Goodbye Greg.” Lestrade makes it to the landing before he realizes just what he’s done. He pauses, turns on his heel and trots back up the stairs, takes Mycroft Holmes’ face in his hands and kisses him square on the mouth.

“I would have regretted walking away.” Lestrade whispers. Mycroft pulls him into another kiss.

“Almost as much as I would have regretted letting you go.”


End file.
